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1  v  &  K  S  f  T  \ 


ADVENTURERS 

FANNY    •    HODGE.S    •    HEW/AAN 


GIFT   OF 


ADVENTURERS 


ADVENTURERS 

By 
FANNY    HODGES    NEWMAN 


EXECUTELD   BY 

DEN  RICH 


Copyright,  Nineteen  Ten,  by 
Fanny    Hodges    Newman 


INVOCATION 


Friends  all  and  dear,  that  were  and  are, 
uphold  me  with  your  sweet  support,  while 
now,  with  courage  long  deferred,  I  mount  the 
altar  steps  and  make  my  insufficient  offering 
to  Love. 


282995 


ADVENTURERS 


Up  the  steep  hills  of  Happiness 

Ye  seek  a  freer  path; 

The  throng  that  keeps  the  trodden  trail 

Spares  you  nor  ridicule  nor  wrath. 

Then,  if  ye  may,  be  merry; 

Then,  if  ye  must,  be  sad: 

Your  wounded  feet  mark  out  the  road 

A  world  shall  follow  and  be  glad. 


THE  CONTENTS 


Abelard  to  Heloise  9 

To  Paleolithic  Man  10 

Babylon  12 
To  Princess  Raa— in  her  Mummy-Case         14 

L'  Antoinette  15 

The  Wedding  Guest  17 

Spring  Song  19 

Illusion  20 

Night  Ministrant  21 

Unreconciled  23 

Absence  24 

A  Confession  25 

Preoccupation  27 

Yesterday  28 

Freedom  29 

Anointed  30 

Constancy  31 

Recompense  32 

Remembrance  33 

Favors  34 

Ingrate  35 

Renunciation  36 

Afterward  37 


THE  CONTENTS  Continued 

A  Phantasy  of  Burial  38 

In  Articulo  Mortis  40 

The  Harvest  41 

Death  Calls  for  a  Song  42 

A  Toast  to  Spring  44 

The  Wave  46 

Little  Fields  o'  Summer  47 

The  Water-Hyacinth  49 

The  Rose  Once  Plucked  50 

Language  51 

Perseverance  52 

The  Market  53 

At  Bedtime  55 

Mortality  56 

Nemesis  57 

Discouragement  58 

Loneliness  59 

Heimweh  60 

Late  Romance  61 

The  Gospel  of  the  Commonplace  62 

The  Task  Appointed  63 

In  Exile  64 

The  Difficulty  65 


THE  CONTENTS Continued 

Cache  66 

It's  a  Good  Thing  to  Laugh -For  F.  A.  B.  67 

Today  68 

In  Body  Pent  69 

Out  of  Bondage  70 

Joy  71 

Recovery  72 

In  Praise  of  Beautiful  Hands- For  E.N.L.  73 

The  Golden  Anniversary— For  E.  &  M.  R.  74 

The  Riders-For  I.E.R.  75 


ABELARD  TO  HELOISE 


When  Life  is  old  and  barren,  Heloise, 

And  Love  sits  silent,  mourning  days  like  these; 

When  Earth  confronts  her  moon,  dead  white 

to  white, 
And  paupered  Nature,    laggard   Day  and 

Night, 

Go  dumbly  grieving  for  what  used  to  be; 
I  will  ask  God  (for  deathless  love  of  thee 
And  for  repentance  of  the  body's  sin), 
To  let  me,  from  the  hell  I  suffer  in, 
Return  and  make  atoning  pilgrimage. 
I  will  not  fear  the  stillness,  but  engage, 
Searching  the  waste  on  penitential  knees, 
Through  Time's  defacement,   through 

Eternity's, 

To  find  this  path  where  now,  forbid,  we  meet, 
And  lip  the  stones  where  once  I  kissed 

thy  feet! 


TO  PALEOLITHIC  MAN 

(Restored  in  a  museum) 


My  Father!    Lo,  thy  hundred  thousand  years 
Are  but  as  yesterday  when  it  is  past. 
Today  thy  very  voice  is  in  mine  ears; 
On  mine  own  mirror  is  thy  likeness  cast. 

Thy  sap  it  is  in  these  my  veins  runs  green; 
Thine  are  these  knitted  thews  of  bone  and 

skin; 
This  cushioned  width  lay  once  thy  ribs 

between, 
As  my  heart  did  with  thine  its  work  begin. 

Be  it  however  contoured,  this  frail  cup 
That  holds  the  stuff  and  substance  of  my 

brain 

From  thy  prognathic  skull  was  moulded  up: 
Do  I  not  share  with  thee  the  mark  of  Cain? 

And  shall  I  shudder  at  the  thickened  neck, 
Full  from  thy  shoulders  to  thy  sloping  head? 
It  bore  the  brunt  of  many  a  rout  and  wreck 
That  spared  the  slender  loins  whence  I  was 
bred. 

And  do  I  blush,  my  Father,  seeing  how 
Thy  furry  jowl  is  kindred  to  my  cheek? 
It  shuts  upon  a  tongue,  I  mind  me  now, 
Which  stuttering  spent  itself  that  I  might 
speak. 


10 


I  and  my  brothers  roam  this  rich  Today 
Unhindered,  unafraid,  because  thy  feet, 
Stone-bruised  and  heavy  with  primordial  clay, 
God's  winepress  trod  to  make  our  vintage 
sweet 

What  then,  Progenitor?    Shall  we  repay 
Such  debt  in  any  coin  but  filial  love? 
Leave  thy  defenceless  carcase  on  display 
With  fossil  horse  and  pterodactyl  dove? 

For  thee  no  epic  and  no  monument! 

For  lesser  hero,  meaner  pioneer, 

Our  honors;  shall  thy  sons  consent 

To  leave  thee  standing  naked,  nameless,  here? 


ll 


BABYLON 


Where  now  is  barren  silence,  hoary  calm, 
Once  echoed  from  proud  arch  and  propylon 
The  voice  of  Life  in  serenade  and  psalm; 
The  air  was  vibrant  with  the  spoken  word. 
Where  now  he  sings  thy  requiem,  this  brave 

bird 
Once  sang  thy  glory  fadeless,  Babylon! 

Thy  merchants  chaffered  as  they  bought  and 

sold 

Treasure  of  caravan  and  galleon; 
All  we  adventure  they  essayed  for  gold, 
For  heart's  desire,  for  fame,  for  victory; 
And  bravely  wrought  thy  troops  on  land  and 

sea, 
Triumphed  or  died,— it  was  for  Babylon. 

God  of  the  earth,  we  are  no  more  than  they! 
They  rose  up  eager  with  the  morn  begun, 
And  weary  laid  them  down  at  close  of  day; 
Spread  tables  with  the  varied  bread  of  toil; 
They  threshed  and  vinted  harvests  from  the 

soil; 
Built  storehouses  and  barns,  in  Babylon; 

Built  palaces;  built  temples  on  the  hill, 
Where  women  hardly  their  salvation  won, 
Submitting  to  the  god's  promiscuous  will. 

12 


We  call  their  blazoned  virtue  infamy; 
The  incense  from  our  altars,  it  may  be, 
Shall  rise  no  nearer  heaven,  Babylon! 


Where  outcast  hyssop  trails  her  slattern  foot, 
Waste  hostelry  whose  board  the  wild  bees 

shun, 
Where  never  wandering  rose  will  pause  and 

root, 
A  queen  once  walked,  and  found  her  garden 

fair, 

And  smiled  upon  her  king  in  suppliance  there; 
Just  as  we  love,  they  loved  in  Babylon. 


0  Present,  hang  thy  harps  upon  the  trees, 

The  willow  trees  that  girt  Oblivion. 

There  wail  Time's  captives  still  upon  their 

knees, 

Still  importuning  skies  of  brass,  as  then 
They  knelt  and  agonized, —forgotten  men, 
WTho  passed,  nor  dreamed  of  thee,— 

in  Babylon. 


13 


TO    PRINCESS   RAA 

IN    HER    MUMMY -CASE 


Forlorn  survival  of  what  once  has  been 

A  young,  fair  woman!  they  are  dead  like  thee 

Who  served  thee  thus,  to  keep  thy  memory 

green: 
Have  mortals  naught,  then,  but  mortality? 

So  much  our  hands  would  do,  can  they  no  more 
Than  lie  thus  idle  on  the  emptied  breast? 
Our  eager  feet,  for  them  is  naught  in  store 
But  this  straight  quietude  that  is  not  rest? 

I  see  my  darling's  eyes,  how  deep  they  shine, 
Two  wells  of  heaven;  yet  this  selfsame  sky 
May  once  have  paled  above  the  blue  of  thine: 
Shall  night  forever  on  our  eyelids  lie? 

Egyptian,  speak!     Thy  dessicated  lip, 
Between  what  kisses  slipt  its  passing  breath? 
And  did  thy  soul,  with  love  for  staff  and 

scrip, 
Emerge  immortal  from  this  husk  of  death? 


14 


L'ANTOINETTE 


In  the  vaults  of  the  Conciergerie 

It  echoes  still:     What  ho,  Marie! 

Do  you  weep  for  the  king  or  the  dauphin  child? 

"With  jailers  quartered,  of  them  reviled, 

I  taste  of  the  bitter  pain  ye  knew, 

Madonna  Mother,  and  thou,  Jesu  !" 

Her  head  that  was  gallant  red  before 
Bowed  down  till  the  white  hair  curled  to  the 

floor, 

Frost  on  its  foulness.     Up,  Marie! 
The  crwivn  will  fall  from  your  Majesty. 

'  'Before  I  came  to  this  drear  mischance 
God's  grace  and  glory  fell  from  France. " 
She  turns  to  the  casement,  faint  for  air, 
Nor  recks  if  the  day  be  dark  or  fair. 
Would  you  ride,  my  lady?    That  you  shall, 
Though  your  coach  wait  long  in  the  Rue  Royale. 

'  'Messieurs,  some  thread  to  mend  my  dress, 
For  shame  of  a  queen  in  her  nakedness. " 
Paris  kept  you  in  goiuns  and  hats, 
And  drove  the  poor  to  their  holes  like  rats. 

1  'Not  one  of  them  but  had  better  state 
Than  I  since  ye  brought  me  in  at  this  gate. 
I  pray  you  a  morsel  of  seemly  food; 
I  cannot  stomach  yon  ration  rude. ' ' 


15 


Since  the  palace  table  is  bare,  'tis  well 
Ye  starve  in  the  fashion  of  gaunt  Michel 

"  If  I  must  stop  at  this  loathly  inn 
Long,  on  my  way  to  the  guillotine, 
An  your  heart  beat  ever  in  human  kind, 
Hang  me  a  curtain  to  pray  behind." 

Today  all  Paris  shall  see  you  kneel 
Where  the  fiat  of  heaven  descends  in  steel. 
"Now  farewell,  Paris;  France,  farewell; 
God  bring  you  as  quickly  out  of  hell!" 

Then  forth  she  fared  in  her  widowhood, 
Sport  of  women  one  half  as  good. 
Marie  has  back  her  tresses  red, 
They  laughed,  and  lifted  her  sodden  head. 

L'ENVOI 

Marie  Jeanne  Josephe  Antoinette, 

The  lustful  city  it  lingers  yet, 

An  empire  lost  and  none  to  get. 

Today  mayhap  you  had  kept  your  crown, 

Malgre  pride  and  an  ill  renown, 

Glitter  of  gems  and  a  purfled  gown, 

A  wasteful  board  and  an  empty  purse; 

For  men  are  better  though  life  be  worse. 

And  still  in  the  Conciergerie 

The  Voices  wait:     What  ho,  Marie! 


16 


THE  WEDDING  GUEST 


"When  Jesus  came  as  a  wedding  guest 
To  Cana  in  Galilee, 

Mother,  I  think  he  danced  with  the  best, 
And  kissed  the  bride,  may  be." 

Forfend  He  hear  thee,  impious  one, 
And  thou  so  soon  to  wed! 
Wouldst  bring  His  scourging  wrath  upon 
Thy  housing  and  thy  bed? 

1  'Mother,  I  think  His  eyes  were  brown, 

And  His  hair  most  pleasing  red, 

And  He  blushed,  mayhap,  with  lids  drooped 

down, 
At  the  words  the  rabbi  said. 

'  'Nay,  chide  me  not,  sweet  Mother  mine, 
I  would  it  were  my  feast, 
Where  the  Christ  poured  out  immortal  wine 
For  the  guests,  and  himself  not  least." 

Fie  on  thee!— '  'Would  those  revelers  ask 
Of  one  austere  and  still, 
That  He  work  a  spell  on  the  emptied  cask, 
His  cup  and  theirs  to  fill? 

"They  called  Him  glutton,  Mother  dear, 
And  bibber,  the  Pharisees, 
Because  he  lifted  the  cup  of  cheer, 
And  drank  it  down  to  the  lees. 


17 


'  'And  since  for  love  and  the  best  of  life 
He  came  to  dwell  with  men, 
I  am  sure  He  smiled  at  His  kinsman's  wife, 
And  wished  her  children  ten. 

"And  she  lived,  I  know,  to  be  passing  glad, 
When  she  mused  on  her  marriage  day, 
That  the  world's  dear  Christ  was  the 

handsome  lad 
Who  made  her  wedding  gay. 

"And  Mary  was  proud  as  Dame  Isobel 
Will  be  of  the  son  she  bred, 
When   he  stands  with  me  in   the 

Sainte  Chapelle, 
And  our  holy  vows  are  said. 

"0  mother,  a  lad's  a  lad,  and  the  best 
That  ever  the  world  shall  see 
Was  a  merry  youth  and  a  welcome  guest 
At  Cana  of  Galilee. 

"And  tomorrow  I  shall  pray  with  tears— 
The  only  tears  I  shed,  — 
That  if  still  on  earth  the  Lord  appears, 
He  will  come  to  see  me  wed." 


18 


SPRING  SONG 


Oh,  foard  you  the  delicious  din 
Of  Nature  at  her  lying-in? 
The  sap  seeps  up  the  breasted  hill, 
The  suckling  rootlets  drink  their  fill, 
The  mating  lark  proclaims  his  choice. 
For  you  all  this,  for  me  Her  voice. 

Oh,  have  you  seen  the  fairest  thing 
That  ever  came  with  youth  and  spring? 
The  young  leaves  of  the  camphor  tree, 
The  moon-veil  on  the  evening  sea. 
White  lily  cups,  green  willow  lace,  — 
What  should  I  see  except  Her  face? 

Oh,  found  you  where  Sir  Rainbow  put 
The  pot  of  gold  beneath  his  foot? 
Take  Midas'  gift  and   Midas'  lust, 
And  turn  earth's  sod  to  aureate  crust, 
I  will  not  ask  for  any  part; 
Tell  what  thou  hast,  my  heart! 


19 


ILLUSION 


Sometimes  I  see  the  blue  alluring  shade 
The  nested  palm  once  in  our  garden  made; 
The  filtered  moon  beneath  the  pepper  bough. 

The  oriole  stirs  and  faintly  calls  thee,  Dear; 
Love's  swift  mirage  persuades  that  thou  art 

here, 
Then  fades  and  leaves  me  by  thy  grave  as 

now. 


20 


NIGHT  MINISTRANT 


Blessed  be  night  and  sleep  and  dream, 
That  they  atone 

For  pains  that  are  by  joys  that  seem! 
Say  you  not  so,  my  Own? 

Dear  Spirit,  through  Night's  moil  and  rout 
You  hear  my  plea; 

Though  walls  and  guards  be  round  about, 
You  come  to  me. 

Soon  as,  enchanted  of  kind  Sleep, 
Mine  eyelids  fall, 
Mine  ears  their  avid  vigils  keep 
To  hear  you  call. 

I  cannot  feel  your  shoulder  lift 

In  rhythmic  heave; 

Your  breath's  slow  fragrance  does  not  drift 

Upon  my  sleeve. 

I  cannot  lay  my  hand  upon 

Your  buoyant  flesh, 

Nor  glimpse  what  gold  stays  from  the  sun 

In  your  hair's  mesh. 

Only  your  thoughts  my  thoughts  caress; 

Only  your  voice 

Across  my  dreams  is  happiness; 

Yet  I  rejoice 

21 


That  on  that  swift  aerial  track, 
Our  hearts  between, 
Imagined  bliss  plies  forth  and  back, 
The  dark  a  screen. 

0  joy  that  cannot  be  estopped 

By  bolt  or  bar, 

Like  manna  from  high  heaven  dropped 

Your  visits  are; 

And  starved,  as  once  God's  desert  brood 
For  that  sweet  stuff, 
Like  them  I  find  Love's  magic  food 
Each  night  enough. 


22 


UNRECONCILED 


I  weep,  and  call  upon  you  still,  for  still  I  miss, 
As  those  who  lie  awake  and  pray  for  dawn, 
The  sweet  perpetual  comfort  of  your  kiss. 
How  can  the  world  and  I  be  here,  and  you 
be  gone? 


23 


ABSENCE 

When  the  night  falls,  and  to  my  waiting  eyes 
There  comes  no  benison  of  starlit  skies; 
When  at  high  noon  I  miss  the  yellow  heat, 
Which  quivers  in  the  garden  where  we  meet; 
When  the  morn's  dawn  is  dry  of  that  sweet 

dew 

The  rose  distils  but  when  I  walk  with  you;— 
Then  are  you  absent,  then  'tis  you  I  lack. 
Dear,  if  you  heard  me  call,  would  you  come 

back? 


24 


A    CONFESSION 


I  was  glad  for  the  story  told  truly, 

Not  sparing  my  tears, 

For  now  I  can  cherish  you  duly, 

Aware  of  the  years; 

Can  love  you  with  passionate  choosing, 

In  spite  of  the  one 

Whose  shadow,  that  day  of  refusing, 

Extinguished  your  sun; 

In  spite  of,  because  of,  the  anguish 

That  tore  you  and  flayed, 

And  proved  not  a  poltroon  to  languish 

But  man  you  were  made. 

Because  of  the  cup  of  your  drinking, 

Bitter  is  mine, 

And  yet  I  exult  that  no  shrinking 

Cost  me  the  wine. 

Recalling  how  madly  you  missed  her, 

(Can  it  be  said?) 

How  vainly  you  prayed  her  and  kissed  her, 

Lying  there  dead, 

Do  you  not  ask  how  I  bear  it, 

You  who  forget, 

And  bade  me  forget,  bade  me  swear  it, 

Your  ancient  regret? 

0  Love,  only  mine  for  the  winning, 


Though,  out  there  at  sea 

Unstarred  and  uncharted,  beginning 

Your  journey  to  me,  — 

Course  set  where  you  thought  I  was  spoken,  — 

You  struck  upon  Grief, 

And  came  back  from  shipwreck  heartbroken, 

Past  any  belief; 

You  found  me,  I  you.     I  was  waiting 

And  pacing  the  sands, 

And  I  drew  you  (Oh,  that  was  a  mating!) 

Here  with  my  hands, 

To  my  home  on  the  rocks,  to  my  cottage, 

Comforted   you, 

Stayed  you  with  excellent  pottage, 

My  heart  in  the  brew. 

Reviving,  you  told  me  the  story, 

Nor  spared  me  a  tear, 

And  since  and  forever  my  glory 

Is  loving  you,  Dear! 


26 


PREOCCUPATION 


I  bore  my  burden  in  the  sun  today, 
And  was  it  light  or  heavy  could  not  say; 
Felt  not  the  driver's  lash  curl  in  my  face; 
My  heart  was  singing  in  another  place! 


27 


YESTERDAY 


Last  night  I  mounted  by  thy  turret  stair, 
And  called  thee  softly  in  the  wonted  way, 
And  took  the  wonted  kiss,  all  unaware 
How  vainly  I  should  climb  and  call  today. 


28 


FREEDOM 


When  you  like  more  the  open  sun, 

The  wind's  path  to  the  sea, 

The  road  the  wanton  roses  run, 

Than  this  dull  room  and  me,  — 

More  than  you  love  these  cloistered  hours 

Beside  my  bed  of  pain,  — 

I  will  not  hold  you:  on  these  flowers 

I  swear  you  free  again. 


29 


ANOINTED 


Because  I  touched  your  hair,  the  scent  of  you 
Exhales  triumphant  from  my  finger-tips; 
Because  you  kissed  me,  I  shall  rise  and  go 
My  journey's  length  with  love  upon  my  lips. 


30 


CONSTANCY 


Some  day  the  hand  which  holds  the  ocean  up 
Shall  spill  it  forth  from  earth's  inverted  cup; 
0  faithful,  in  a  fickle  world  of  men, 
Shall  love  maintain  me  in  thy  heart  till  then? 


31 


RECOMPENSE 


Then  wilt  thou  sleep  upon  my  breast, 
And  thy  repose  shall  be  my  rest, 
And  for  Fate's  uttermost  offense 
Thy  joy  shall  be  my  recompense. 


REMEMBRANCE 


Are  there  not  enough  faces,  white  and  brown, 
Gray  and  gay,    in  the  world,  in  the  town? 
Why  should  my  soul  importunate  speak 
For  only  one  rose-red  vanished  cheek? 

So  many  kind  hands  clasp  my  hands, 
So  many  beckon  in  so  many  lands; 
Why  should  I  languish  by  dark  and  light 
For  two  that  were  mine  for  a  day,  for  a  night? 

Eyes  a  myriad  face  the  sun; 
Is  it  good  to  remember  the  eyes  of  one?— 
For  the  gaze  of  men's  desire  demure, 
For  me  their  passionate  swift  allure. 

Is  the  world,  then,  shorn  of  its  glory  of  hair, 

Plaited,  garlanded,  dark  and  fair, 

That  just  to  recall  the  lock  astray 

On  a  brow  I  knew,  wears  my  heart  away? 

Where  the  pale  sun  rises,  where  red  it  dips, 
They  tempt  me,  the  many,  with  wine-sweet 

lips; 

Then  why  turn  back  and  weep  like  this 
For  dole  of  my  saint's  betrothal  kiss? 

Strength  and  beauty  go  up  and  down 
Crying  their  wares  in  the  world,  in  the  town; 
But  I  will  none  of  their  proffered  grace, 
Lest  I  cease  to  dream  of  a  vanished  face. 


FAVORS 


My  Lady  kissed  me!    Since  that  bounteous 

hour 

My  lips  are  fervid  with  the  warmth  of  hers, 
As  bees  go  honeyed  from  the  jasmine  flower, 
That  spreads  her   sweets  for  favored 

wanderers. 


34 


INGRATE 


As  one  who,  rich  in  gold  but  blind, 
Desires  only  sight, 
And,  having  all  the  world  can  give, 
Would  render  all  for  light; 

As,  in  the  desert,  one  athirst 
Faints  by  the  empty  well, 
And  all  his  laden  caravan 
For  one  cool  draught  would  sell,  — 

So  I,  from  whom  Fate  bountiful 
Withholds  no  gift  but  thee, 
Go  thankless  through  the  day,  and  rail 
Nightlong  at  Destiny. 


35 


RENUNCIATION 


If  I  could  love  you  just  enough 
For  comfort,  Dear, 
Without  this  tumult  in  my  veins 
When  you  are  near; 

If  this  mad  heart  did  not  repine, 
When  you  are  far; 

If  I  could  cease  just  dreaming  dreams 
For  Fate  to  mar; 

If  I  could  take  Life's  measured  alms 
In  thankful  part,  — 
I  would  not  say,  Go,  Love,  before 
You  break  my  heart. 


36 


AFTERWARD 


She  has  not  been  here  in  the  house  that  was 

hers 

For  a  desolate  day  and  a  night  and  a  day, 
And  my  ears  grow  deaf  and  my  vision  blurs 
With  life's  blare  and  glare  since  she 

went  away. 

I  would  not  see  and  I  will  not  hear 

But  the  voice  I  loved  and  the  one  loved  face; 

Then  how  shall  I  live  the  livelong  year 

And  the  years  to  come  in  this  widowed  place? 

Yonder  is  never  the  selfsame  sun, 
Aloft  in  the  garish  blue  today, 
That  rose  to  gladden  my  blessed  one 
When  she  slipped  from  her  morning  couch 
to  pray; 

Nor  the  blatant  clamor  that  fills  the  street 
Can  be  the  music  she  used  to  hear 
When  she  called  from  the  casement 

(Oh,  she  was  sweet!), 
"How  happy  the  world  is,  Dear!" 

But  that  was  her  world  and  it  passed  with  her, 
And  chaos  followed  her  parting  breath. 
Hush,  friends,  while  God  and  I  confer 
On  this  wanton  deed  of  His  servant  Death. 


37 


A  PHANTASY  OF  BURIAL 


The  lark  at  dawn  sings  close  above, 
The  perfumed  rose  leans  over, 
Where  prone  beneath  my  heavy  grief 
I've  wept  the  night,  my  Lover. 


Faintly  the  song  and  fragrance  drift 
Upon  my  seeming  slumber; 
The  living  touch  my  lips  and  say, 
She  is  not  of  our  number. 

They  lift  me,  ice  from  head  to  feet, 
And  croon  their  tender  pity: 
She  has  not  slept  since  his  young  bier 
Was  carried  from  the  city. 

They  bear  me  to  thy  tomb,  and  chant 
The  songs  for  the  departed. 
Blessed  be  Death,  I  hear  them  say, 
Who  joins  the  loyal-hearted. 

Strange  that  I  do  not  feel  it  strange, 
The  body's  cold  quiescence; 
Stranger  this  tumult  in  a  heart 
Drained  of  its  mortal  essence. 

I  fear  I  am  not  rightly  dead, 
'Tis  so  undreamed-of  lonely; 


38 


I  thought  by  now  to  be  with  thee, 
'Twas  that  I  died  for  only. 

The  sun  is  rising  on  the  world; 
His  shadows  cross  this  portal, 
Whereon  is  graved  thy  name  and  mine 
Beneath  the  word,  Immortal. 

Soon  shall  this  flesh  that  was  thy  joy 
Be  dust  for  breezes  vagrant, 
And  vampire  Life  devour  this  clay, 
Yet  of  thy  kisses  fragrant. 

And  still  my  soul  survives,  and  waits 
That  earthy  dissolution, 
And  somehow  knows  it  need  not  fear 
Or  loss  or  diminution. 

Impatient,  impotent,  my  prayer 
Assails  thee  in  thy  glory: 
Bring  me  to  heaven  with  thee  or  hell, 
Out  of  this  purgatory. 

0  Wooer,  Comrade,  is  it  thou? 
(I  rise,  the  world  sinks  under. ) 
Eternity  is  ours?— 0  Death, 
Thy  wisdom  and  thy  wonder! 


39 


IN  ARTICULO  MORTIS 


Hope  stands  detached,  half  smiling  yet, 
Ambiguous  to  deceive  me. 
Health  hovers  on  reluctant  wing, 
Dismayed  that  she  must  leave  me. 

Life's  cohorts  on  the  crowded  way 
Are  battling  on  without  me, 
And,  dizzy  with  her  dancing,  Joy 
Laughs  back  a  song  to  flout  me. 

Only  God's  creature,  Death,  awaits 
The  still  sign  to  obey  Him. 
Strike,  minion!  Love  is  here;  not  thou, 
Nor  shall  God's  self,  affray  him. 


40 


THE    HARVEST 


Little  feet  of  my  will-o'-the-wisp,  of  my 
child,  that  vanished  as  fireflies  do, 

I  follow  you,  bent  to  the  burdened  earth, 
my  footsteps  sodden  and  slow, 

And  only  the  Angel  that  beckoned  you  hence 
knows  surely  the  way  that  I  go. 

Through  tulip  and  daffodil  gardens,  Sweet, 
your  springtime  journey  lay, 

But  I  have  not  rid  me  of  murk  and  mire 

since  you  danced  farewell  and  away, 

And  over  the  unhealed  sore  in  my  heart 
breaks  always  the  salt  sea  spray. 

The  frock  that  I  wove  you  was  white,  was 

white,  as  the  lilies  I  dare  not  touch, 
And  I  know,  and  the  whole  world  knows  it 

well,  there's  a  Kingdom  of  Heaven 

for  such; 
Will  the  fact  that  I  fashioned  so  fair  a  thing 

atone  for  my  garment's  smutch? 

Oh,  little  winged  feet  that  went  your  way 

in  the  dawn-time  long  ago, 
I  follow,  in  spite  of  the  mire  and  mist 

of  the  only  road  I  know; 
For  I  hold  that  somewhere  mothers  all 

shall  gather  the  seed  they  sow. 


41 


DEATH  CALLS  FOR  A  SONG 


A  song,  ye  men  of  tears!    Raise  me  an  hymn, 
And  wreathe  me  bay  and  myrtle  for  my  head; 
Render  me  paeans  for  these  dirges  grim: 
Where  I  take  one  I  leave  you  ten,  (he  said). 

Mary  and  Martha,  grant  me  Lazarus 
For  all  the  brothers  that  I  daily  spare. 
And  ye  that  cry,  "Good  Lord,  deliver  us 
From  sudden  death,"  devise  a  better  prayer. 

Be  just:  your  reckless  feet  run  after  me; 
Ye  tempt  me  mightily  by  dark  and  day; 
Ye  fashion  your  own  swords  and  weaponry; 
Your  rash  red  hands  have  tutored  mine  to 
slay. 

How  many  lisping  sweetings  might  I  take, 
Warm  from  the  mother  in  the  father's  bed, 
And  do  not  so,  but  let  them  smile  and  wake! 
For  one  I  take  I  leave  you  ten,  (he  said) . 

An  hundred  lovers  in  unhindered  arms 
A  lifetime  keep  the  burden  of  their  joy, 
For  one  deprived,  who  weeps  love's  ruddy 

charms 
Grown  lean  and  pallid  with  the  dread  alloy. 

God,  when  He  heard  the  first  man-song  of 
praise, 


42 


Bethought  Him  of  yet  one  more  gift,  —a  friend 
To  watch  and  follow  until  length  of  days 
Were  weariness:  then  should  I  bring  the  end. 

Then  should  I  turn  the  halting  steps  aside 
Out  of  the  tumult  where  the  living  pass, 
The  child,  the  youth,  the  bridegroom  and 

the  bride; 
Lay  soft  the  couch  with  poppy  leaves.    Alas, 

Not  for  the  old  would  I  be  comforted; 
Fain  would  I  gather  only  what  is  mine: 
Yours  the  untimely  sacrificial  dead, 
Yours  the  young  paths  that  to  the  grave 
incline. 

Acquit  me,  bless  me,  choir  me  an  hymn, 
And  weave  the  olive  garland  for  my  head; 
Ye  men  of  tears,  forbear  your  dirges  grim: 
For  one  I  take  I  leave  you  ten,  (he  said). 


A  TOAST  TO  SPRING 


Come,  carouse  with  the  May,  tread  a  measure 

and  sing! 
The  year  is  full  long  from  the  spring  to  the 

spring, 
And  may  be  'tis  the  last  gentle  Fortune  shall 

bring,  — 

Here's  to  Spring! 

The  season  of  frost-bloom  and  snow-flower 

is  gone; 

Now  mating  and  nesting  begin  with  the  dawn; 
The  yeoman's  a  lover  and  boasts  of  his 

brawn,  — 

Here's  to  Spring! 

And  She  in  her  garden  and  You  in  your  field, 
With  that  in  your  two  hearts  must  soon  be 

revealed, 
Are  glad  with  the  young  hope  of  love's 

maiden  yield,— 

Here's  to  Spring! 

And  though  the  lone  hollow  behind  the  green 

hill 

Is  empty  of  birds  and  of  laughter  is  still: 
By  the  spring  may  we  know  the  dead  rise 

if  God  will,- 

Here's  to  Spring! 


44 


Then  riot  and  revel,  come  trip  it  and  sing! 
Full  long  is  the  year  from  the  spring  to  the 

spring, 
And  what  if  this  last  be  the  last  Time  shall 

bring,  — 

Here's  to  Spring! 


45 


THE    WAVE 


The  Wind  my  master  is,  I  am  his  slave. 
Is  he  aweary  of  his  zephyring, 
He  leaves  the  garden  or  the  green  low  grave, 
Where  late  he  sighed  or  pleasured  wantoning, 
And  straightway  hurls  him  to  the  midmost  sea 
And  lays  about  him  with  his  nine-tailed  whip, 
Bidding  me  rise  (the  while  he  scourges  me) 
And  from  my  bosom  dash  the  helpless  ship; 
Litter  the  good  deep  sea,  the  bountiful, 
With  flotsam  of  her  broken  masts  and  men; 
Rouse  up  the  shark,  summon  the  screaming 

gull, 

To  come  and  glean  behind  the  hurricane. 
His  lash  is  on  my  shoulder,  I  must  leap, 
Servile,  before  him,  knowing  where  I  pass 
That  isles  and  sunny  shoals  are  smothered 

deep, 

And  lifted  hands  of  those  that  drown.    Alas, 
So  is  it,  till  the  mad  wind  cries:  No  more! 
Then  penitent  I  turn  and  creep  away, 
Spread  my  spent  fingers  on  some  sunlit  shore, 
And  smooth  the  sands  where  little  children 

play. 


46 


LITTLE  FIELDS  0'  SUMMER 


0  little  fields  o'  summer,  Summer's  gone! 
The  wind  came  by,  'twas  yesterday,  post  haste, 
And  found  her  with  her  kirtle  strings  undone, 
And  whipped  her  tattered  smock  about  her 
waist, 

And  bit  her  cheek  for  being  overbold, 
And  bid  her  seek  another  trysting  place, 
Since  all  the  year  turned  from  her  and  was 

cold; 
But  still  she  went  with  smiles  upon  her  face. 

0  fields  betrayed,  and  had  you  never  heard 
What  light-o'-love  she  was  that  hither  came 
And  tricked  you  with  her  magic?    Every  bird 
And  bloom  she  was  so  false  to  knows  her 
name. 

When  once  they  trusted  her  and  gave  their 

best, 

She  took  and  used  them  for  her  dalliance, 
Then  strewed  the  flowers  and  emptied  out  the 

nest, 
Laughing  that  Love  had  lost  his  puissance. 

0  little  fields,  I  grieve  that  there  you  lie, 
Uncovered  and  unkissed,  where  swoops  the 
blast 


47 


And  taunts  you  with  his  tidings:  "Summer's 

by, 
That  vowed  betimes  and  left  you  lorn  at  last." 

And  I  that  love  each  wimpling  weed  of  you, 
Because  of  one  that  strayed  from  moon  till 

dawn 

Along  your  paths,  I  weep  my  mistress  too. 
0  little  fields  o'  summer,  Summer's  gone! 


48 


THE  WATER-HYACINTH 

Haply,  as  on  this  shadowed  pool 
Thy  lovely  purple  flower  appears, 
Some  fertile  seed  of  wandering  joy 
May  root  and  thrive  upon  my  tears. 


49 


THE  ROSE  ONCE  PLUCKED 

Unfruited  Rose,  what  aim  and  effort  spent 
By  what  artificer  brought  thee  to  birth, 
Wrought  thy  fine  fabric  from  the  sober  earth? 
What  Breath  exhales  in  thy  too  transient 

scent? 

When  I  behold  thy  fate  inconsequent, 
Not  my  delight  in  wearing  thee  is  worth 
This  sorrow  for  Life's  lamentable  dearth, 
Since  thou  must  drop  such  petals  in  my  tent. 

Tomorrow  with  the  moving  caravan 
I  pass;  shed  thou  upon  the  sand  thy  bloom, 
And  gather  back  thy  sweets  into  the  sod. 
There  thou  shalt  find  thy  peer  and  partner, 

Man, 

And  mingle  tissues  in  the  common  tomb. 
0  Rose,  therein  is  any  stir  of  God? 


50 


LANGUAGE 


There  was  no  path  to  his  place  in  the  air, 
The  oriole  swinging  and  singing  his  prayer 
To  his  distant  lady  to  meet  him  there, 
But  this  I  heard  him  say,  I  swear: 

"Come  three  flights  south  and  two  flights  west; 
I  have  found  the  palm  that  will  suit  thee  best. ' ' 
How  else  had  she  found  them,  —love  and 
a  nest? 


51 


PERSEVERANCE 

Finishes  one  little  nest,  the  wren, 
One  little  song,  the  robin,— then 
Both  begin  again. 


52 


THE  MARKET 


What  shall  I  do  with  my  beautiful  life? 
(Youth  in  the  market,  Hope  in  the  stall) 
What  is  your  barter,  —this  is  my  aU; 
What  shall  I  get  in  return  for  my  life? 

"Here's  thirst  for  adventure,  here's  lust  of 

the  strife; 

Here's  sword  of  the  Saracen,  hammer  of  Thor; 
Here's  spoil  of  far  waters,  red  guerdon 

of  war: 
The  half  of  your  days  for  the  Spirit  of  Strife!" 

Art  offers  her  pigments,  her  cymbals,  her 

knife: 

'  'Come,  make  you  a  marble,  a  canvas,  a  song : 
Immortal  the  years  that  to  Beauty  belong: 
Your  best  for  a  lyre,  a  pencil,  a  knife!" 

'  'This  way  to  the  workshop  where  problems 

are  rife! 
A  bargain,  the  compass,  the  guage  and 

the  glass! 
Give  your  name  to  a  star;  christen  atom 

and  gas. 
To  the  workshop  with  Science  where 

questions  are  rife!" 

Love's  frail  adolescence  tempts:     "Buy  me 
to  wife!" 

53 


Beware  of  the  coy,  disingenuous  jade. 
Freedom,  fealty,  faith,  a  usurious  trade, 
Will  you  take  it,  and  bind  unfledged  Passion 
to  wife? 

Folk  of  Vanity  Fair  with  fiddle  and  fife, 
Parading  your  baubles  and  crying  your  toys, 
Display  me  your  goodies,  uncover  your  joys, 
And  while  I  am  choosing,  hush  fiddle  and  fife. 

What  shall  I  do  with  my  beautiful  life? 
( Youth  in  the  market,  Hope  in  the  stall) 
What  is  your  barter?    This  is  my  all. 
What  shall  I  get  in  return  for  my  life? 


54 


AT    BED-TIME 


'  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, ' '  — 
Oh  sweet  audacity, 
To  take  for  confidence  in  God 
This  faith  in  Mother's  knee! 

' 7  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep,"  — 
They  say  that  in  God's  Heaven 
White  angels  veil  their  eyes;  our  babes 
Look  up  and  smile,  unshriven. 

"  I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take,"  — 
Now  hush!  for  life  is  good. 
'  'If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, ' '  — 
0  Baby,  if  you  should! 


55 


MORTALITY 


Aeons  rolled  on.     Earth's  restless  morning 

dawned. 

By  world  commotions  undisturbed  I  slept. 
Lacking  the  bitter  sweet  of  consciousness, 
I  nothing  lacked,  desired  not  nor  wept. 

But  now,  by  need  of  Law  or  Love,  I  am. 
Witless  I  reap  and  sow  Life's  grain,  and 

then-? 
Prophets  and  Seers,  what  then?  0  years  to 

come, 
Come  softly  that  ye  wake  me  not  again! 


56 


NEMESIS 


"  Some  day!"   We  gaze  across  our  dreams 

and  say;— 

The  lover,  murmuring  in  his  amorous  sleep; 
The  sailor,  shouting  to  defy  the  deep; 
The  mother,  crooning  to  the  quickening  child. 
So  is  our  helplessness  with  hope  beguiled. 
I  heard  one  mocking  softly:  "Aie,  some  day!" 


57 


DISCOURAGEMENT 


How  is  become  life's  rising  tide  a  bog; 
A  desolate  waste,  this  erstwhile  beau-rivage; 
The  future,  yonder  dreary,  drifting  fog; 
The  past,  a  tempest  and  the  now,  mirage! 


58 


LONELINESS 


I  could  not  guess,  where  life  so  elbows  life, 
There  could  such  anguish  of  aloofness  be; 
Nor  in  the  midst  of  noise,  —bird-song  and  hum 
Of  whirring  hours  and  happy  whisperings,  — 
Such  curtained  silences  encompass  me; 
Nor  anywhere  thou  shinest,  0  sweet  Sun, 
Such  bitter  tides  of  darkness  round  me  run. 


59 


HEIMWEH 


Oh,  I  followed  the  lure  of  loving, 
Through  open  fields  and  town, 
And  it  left  me  sighing,  sighing, 
For  I  never  found  my  own. 

Oh,  I  whirled  me  after  pleasure, 
The  moth  with  death's-head  wings, 
But  she  kept  on  flying,  flying, 
Till  now  remembrance  stings. 

And  I  hurled  me  after  profit, 

So  fast  I  never  turned 

Where  the  poor  were  crying,  crying, 

For  the  bread  I  had  not  earned. 

Oh,  I  followed  the  lust  of  roving 
To  the  seven  far  hills  of  Rome, 
And  here  I  am  dying,  dying, 
With  my  heart  turned  vainly  home. 


60 


LATE    ROMANCE 


Above  the  scattered  rubbish  of  the  street, 
The  dust  aswirl  round  Labor's  shuffling  feet, 
A  brown- winged  butterfly  in  graceful  poise! 
I  raised  my  tired  eyes  and  marked  him  there, 
And,  turning  from  the  traffic  and  the  noise, 
I  set  a  red  rose  in  my  whitening  hair. 


61 


THE   GOSPEL    OF  THE  COMMONPLACE 

Though  dearest  star 

Be  farthest,  far, 

And  fairest  flower 

But  stay  an  hour,  — 

The  near  and  worthy  Commonplace 

Prefers  its  claim  and  sues  for  grace. 

Then  fix  your  hope 

Half  way  the  slope, 

Since  you  must  stop 

This  side  the  top, 

And  learn  to  be  apostle,  Dear, 

Of  the  Everyday  and  Here. 


62 


THE   TASK   APPOINTED 


Said  Doubt:  "It  cometh  night: 
My  little  sands  are  run; 
Living,  why  have  I  lived? 
Doing,  what  have  I  done?" 
Said  Faith:  "Or  what  the  earth 
That  turns  about  the  sun?" 


IN    EXILE 


They  lie  somewhere  'twixt  west  and  east, 
The  fields  of  Far-away, 
Where  once  we  made  Love's  harvest  feast 
In  moons  of  Yesterday; 

Beside  the  paths  that  turn  and  wind 
Among  the  hills  of  Youth; 
And  there,  alas,  are  left  behind 
The  maiden  wells  of  Truth. 

And  there  are  Memory  and  Hope 
And,  God  be  thanked,  Regret; 
And  on  beyond  the  farthest  slope 
The  sin  we  must  forget. 

There  is  the  Joy  that  would  not  stay 
And  Love  that  is  forby, 
And  on  dear  graves  in  Grief's  array 
The  tangled  grass  is  dry. 

No  doubt  the  fertile  fields  we  plow 
Outyield  the  ancient  loam, 
But  Oh,  to  walk  those  furrows  now, 
For  nowhere  else  is  Home! 


64 


THE  DIFFICULTY 


"It  is  certainly  hard",  the  philosopher  said, 
"In  this  riddle  of  worlds  to  be  wise  and  sweet, 
With  Death  a-gardening  underfeet 
And  stars  and  butterflies  overhead." 


65 


CACHfi 


My  life  a  secret  is;  its  dear  concerns 
Are  not  those  catalogued  activities 
That  mark  the  hours,  as  day  to  evening  turns, 
And  spell  them  out  for  whomso  hears  and 
sees. 

You  do  not  know  me,  although  here  I  stand 
And  answer  to  your  questions,  yea  and  nay. 
Delve  in  mine  eyes,  explore  my  charted  hand, 
You  shall  not  find  what  I  have  hid  away. 

I  do  my  task,  and  well  befall  the  work! 
I  give  what  to  your  exigence  belongs. 
Go  read  my  record,  —  Custom  keeps  a  clerk,  — 
But  'tis  not  writ  where  I  have  hid  my  song. 


66 


"IT'S  A  GOOD  THING  TO  LAUGH" 

Oh,  life  is  a  winding  weary  lane 
Where  travelers  go  in  toil  and  pain, 
With  many  a  bitter  cup  to  quaff: 
It's  a  good  thing  to  laugh. 

The  gleaners  come  from  the  ruddy  field, 
Their  shoulders  bent  with  the  harvest  yield, 
And  some  is  wheat  but  it's  mostly  chaff! 
It's  a  good  thing  to  laugh. 

The  heart  cries  out  upon  the  day; 
The  body  breaks  on  the  rugged  way; 
Joy,  give  these  sorrow-scourged  a  staff! 
It's  a  good  thing  to  laugh. 

Midway  is  waiting  the  desolate  pool 
Wherein  falls  many  a  hopeless  fool. 
Quick,  Joy,  and  fish  them  out  with  your  gaff! 
It's  a  good  thing  to  laugh. 

At  the  end  is  the  grave-green  resting  place. 
May  Death  look  once  on  my  sleeping  face, 
Then,  smiling,  write  me  my  epitaph: 
'Twos  a  good  thing  to  laugh. 


67 


TO-DAY 

Rose  in  the  west,  and  violet, 
And  in  the  east  a  flame; 
To  most,  just  one  more  morning, 
To  one  the  Judgment  came. 


68 


IN  BODY  PENT 


When  I  this  vast  outspread  Creation  scan, 
Mine  is  each  patterned  beauty  that  I  see, 
Only  because  I  look  through  eyes  that  be 
Two  windows  of  this  mortal  house  of  man. 

The  sea  sings  up  its  surge;  the  tuneful  sky 
Drops  down  its  melody  in  little  songs, 
And  all  earth's  music  to  myself  belongs 
Because  my  body  listens  and  is  I. 

The  kiss  that  lies  so  softly  on  my  cheek 
Fell  there  because  some  tangible,  sweet  sign 
Must  needs  assure  me  that  mine  own  is  mine. 
Flesh  of  my  flesh,  so  love  itself  must  speak. 

But  if  dear  Death  should  free  from  sense, 

then  what? 

High  resurrection  in  some  likely  sphere, 
Beyond  the  bondage  and  the  bounds  of  here, 
Where  life  unfettered  still  is  Life?  Why  not? 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE 


I  stand  on  the  outermost  brink, 
As  far  as  the  path  may  be  trod, 
Where  mortal  brain  must  cease  to  think 
And  the  heart  cries  out  for  God. 

His  temple  gateway  is  here 

Where  I  see  but  the  void  abyss; 

But  I  know  I  am  His  and  I  need  not  fear, 

And  I  tell  my  Maker  this: 

I  am  not  afraid  to  be  Man; 
To  be  atom  where  Thou  art  Whole; 
To  take  my  place  in  the  august  plan 
That  circles  Thee  and  my  soul. 


70 


JOY 

0  Atalanta,  on  what  leaden  feet 
Drags  after  thee  the  amorous  world! 

Still  cools 
The  path  between,  except  where,  strong 

and  fleet,  — 
Wings  on  their  ankles,— go  our  poet-fools. 


71 


RECOVERY 


Death  has  delayed  his  capture; 
Sickness  has  loosed  her  thong; 
Out  of  the  pain  a  rapture; 
Out  of  the  dark  a  song! 


72 


IN  PRAISE  OF  BEAUTIFUL  HANDS 


Lady,  I  saw  your  lovesome  hands 
Loose-clasped  and  gloveless  lie 
Upon  the  book  at  worship  time, 
Nor  could  cajole  mine  eye 
To  turn  from  instant  homage  there 
And  close  in  wonted  Sabbath  prayer. 

And  if  I  failed  in  churchly  rede 

Or  paused  in  pious  rote, 

Watching  your  fingers  shine  against 

The  blue  of  your  surcoat. 

He  shrived  me  at  the  chancel  rails 

Who  gave  you  rosy  pearls  for  nails. 

Who  turned  each  digit's  slender  length 
And  curved  so  soft  a  palm, 
Condoned  my  making  of  this  rhyme 
In  time  of  prayer  and  psalm. 


Lady,  at  church  I  saw  your  hands, 
Since  when  I  own  my  heart  in  bands. 


73 


THE  GOLDEN  ANNIVERSARY 


One  more  half-century's  infrequent  sun 
Finds  Hymen's  chains  not  yet  by  Time  undone, 
And  with  his  tender  alchemy,  behold, 
He  turns  the  thin  tenacious  strands  to  gold! 

That  other  sun  which  fifty  summers  gone 
Answered  Love's  summons  with  propitious 

dawn, 

As  kindly  shone  on  orange  wreath  and  rose 
That  hedged  these  lovers  in  one  garden-close. 

Since  then,  what  sowing  and  what  yield  have 

been! 
What  storms  without!  what  blighted  buds 

within! 
Grief  pruned  their  vines  and  sorrow  watered 

them, 
Yet  what  a  flowering  crowns  each  ripening 

stem! 

Loyal  the  hearts  that  hoped,  the  hands  that 

wrought; 
Their  portion  how  more  bounteous  than 

their  thought. 

Now  from  the  windows  of  this  gentle  room, 
Content,  they  watch  their  life-long  garden 

bloom. 


74 


THE    RIDERS 


These  drag  the  bridle,  dullards,  lifting  up 
Eyelids  opaque  to  the  illumined  skies; 
Turning  deaf  ears  to  earth's  fine 

minstrelsies; 
Their  lips  unquickened  from  Love's  wassail 

cup. 

They  ride  unnerved,  with  Terror  at  the  crup. 
Let  pass;  here  come  Faith's  brave  allies, 
Defying  ambush,  fearless  of  surprise, 
At  Life's  most  frugal  inns  they  gladly  sup. 
Nathless  their  bodies,  soft  beneath  the  mail, 
Could  feel  the  prick  of  sword,  the  scathe 

of  fire; 

Partake  with  appetite  Joy's  trencher-cheer; 
Pay  tribute  sweet  to  beauty  and  desire. 
Yet  shall  they  never  be  unhorsed  by  Fear: 
It  is  God's  secret,  why  they  may  not  fail! 


75 


There  is  no  road  to  happiness, 
The  road  is  happiness. 


907 


